NOVISSIMO DIE, an opera in three acts
by padgepadge
Summary: In my last day on earth, I was reborn. (A retelling of Tate Langdon's final act from his first-person perspective. Rated M for gruesome violence, language and sexual content.)
1. Act One: Libretto

NOVISSIMO DIE, an opera in three acts

**A/N: This is obviously not an opera, haha. But I've recently developed a liking for American Horror Story, and it really inspired me. One thing I really wish we had gotten to delve deeper into was Tate's final day, and see the shooting and the immolation of Larry Harvey, more from his perspective than a third person view. So that's what I'm going to attempt to do. "Novissimo Die," by the way, means "last day" in Latin. Allegedly. I hope. Or else I look completely ridiculous.**

**It must be the journalist in me, but I've always found this kind of story fascinating. I've done a lot of research and reading on school shooters and killing sprees. In Tate's case, Constance blames the Murder House for Tate's behavior, but she's the only character that does that, and the show never fully reaches into everything. I think there's obviously something much more than that, which can be picked up from his interactions with Ben throughout the early parts of the series.**

**So, here goes. I'm sure I won't do this amazing character a semblance of justice, but I'm going to try.**

_"I prepare for the noble war. I'm calm, I know the secret. I know what's coming and I know no one can stop me, including myself. I kill people I like. Some of them beg for their life. I don't feel sad. I don't feel anything. It's a filthy world we live in. It's a filthy goddamn helpless world, and honestly, I feel like I'm helping to take them away from the shit and the piss and the vomit that run in the streets. I'm helping to take them somewhere clean, and kind."_

**Act One**

_**Libretto**_** – God of Fire**

**I.**

The meth hits my brain first, rocketing through my senses like a bullet, pounding into my skull. I blink, inhaling deeply, before allowing the hot sensation to spark my body. The coke follows shortly behind it, intensifying the trip. My skin is on fire, and I'm ready to melt, become someone else, end this fucking joke of a life that I've been living and start something new. Anything else.

There's one line left on my desk and I snort it with practiced precision. I can't remember if it's more cocaine or the crushed amphetamines or both or something else entirely but it's the last catalyst I need to fall over the edge. I slouch over the desk, my vision blurred and my jagged thoughts rattling from one thing to the next to the next to the next to the next to the next to the...

It's because of that fucking cunt – my mother – that I'm getting fucked up, anyway. The last thing I saw before insufflating myself oblivion was her old blonde head in that fucker Larry's lap, deep-throating his limp, wrinkly dick. She's usually not this careless, but he bought her a necklace today or something.

She wonders why I hate him, why I hate her, why I hate everyone. Growing up at the hands of that fucking bitch is enough to make anyone like me, drive anyone to smack and crack and dope and molly and whatever the fuck else I need to keep myself together, keep myself sane.

I blink again. Where the hell am I? Oh, right.

A photo of my mother, my sister and me smiles tauntingly up at me from the desk. I pick it up, running a tingling finger along the fake wood frame before throwing it roughly to the floor. The glass shatters with a satisfying crash. I wrap a hand around one of the largest shards, feeling it bite into my palm.

Blood, think and red and full of life, my life, oozes slowly down the side of my hand and onto the floor. A drop splatters on Addy's face, and I wince. I would never hurt her, never, not even in my most fucked up of states – like right now – would I consider it. I lift the shard, and it has a mind of its own now, I think, because it's suddenly sticking out of my mother's face, the point piercing just between her perfectly plucked and sculpted eyebrows.

I want more drugs. More and more, always more. With my razor, I diligently cut two more lines, smashing a meth rock with my fist to sprinkle into the coke. The power sprints up my nose and into my head, and then I'm struck with inspiration. A great idea. My mind is ringing. I've always been a smart kid, but school never struck me as something to give a fuck about, it's just a passing phase.

But this. This is something real. Something I'll be proud of. I feel like a god, sent to earth with this purpose. I'm born again – ruler of these world.

I'll be doing so much good, freeing people of this sick fucking place and sending them somewhere so much better. Except for Constance. That bitch will suffer for all of this – she'll loose simpering Larry and her perfect son and her perfectly empty lie of a life. Two birds with one stone.

Hmm. I like birds. They're free. Free to fly, to move on.

**II.**

Finding the weapons is easy enough. It's about 5 a.m., and the house is empty and quiet and dead. Some of my father's old rifles are stashed in the attic, while the rest are in the basement. I creep downstairs first.

The darkness is extra stark in my drug haze. I stumble down the stairs, staying upright but barely able to control my limbs. They feel loose, fuzzy. It'll make things easier.

I hear her before I see her, her sad voice sounding extra wrenching alongside the meth. "My baby…? Where is my baby?" she murmurs, moving through the darkness. Even though I love Nora Montgomery, and I have from the moment I saw her, even she cannot keep me from my purpose. I grab a large, double-barreled shotgun, testing its weight. It feels comfortable, made for my hand.

Suddenly, she's behind me, her hand on my shoulder. "Who…who are you?" she says softly, brushing my hair with her fingers. I turn. I hope she can't see the drug haze that's around me. If there's anyone I want to approve of me, it's her.

"I'm Tate," I answer, trying not to draw attention to the shotgun in my hand. "Remember?"

Nora's eyes are empty. She doesn't understand. "What have you done to my house?"

I pause thoughtfully. "Nothing yet. But I'm going to."

She touches my hair again. She grazes her thumb across my cheek. "You're so full of sadness, and far too young for it." I close my eyes, allowing her to comfort me, to give me one last out from this horror, this idea, to remind me that I'm not a god.

She vanishes. I can't tell if I actually encountered her or if the coke just conjured her up. If anyone could have stopped me, stopped this, put an end to everything, it would have been Nora.

There's a handgun in the basement, too, which will make for a solid secondary weapon. It fits comfortably in the back pocket of my jeans. Meant to be there, meant for this, perfect.

The last thing I need is tucked into the corner, close to the door. A scuffling, moaning fills the air behind me, but it doesn't matter. Even that fucking monster can't stop me. The canister of kerosene is heavier than I thought and unwieldy, but I manage, hauling it up the stairs alongside my personal arsenal.

"My baby…? Where is my sweet baby?" Her voice follows me up from the darkness. I slam the door, shutting her out, shutting out everything that can hold me back.

I'm so sorry, Nora. I'm so sorry.

I leave the large, red metal container at the top of the basement steps and traipse back to my room, guns in tow. I want to load them here, where I have full control, in my domain. It just feels fitting.

I'm not very familiar with guns, but they're not that complicated. They probably should be, right? You'd think most people wouldn't want someone like me to do what I'm about to do and would try to keep it from being so fucking easy.

So. Fucking. Easy. Candy from a baby easy. I think some part of that cunt will be proud of me. Maybe.

Loading the rifle takes longer than I thought, but I'm enjoying the effort. By the time I'm done with my ritual, I can hear Larry leave for work. That will make this more interesting and dramatic. I had expected to catch him before he left the house.

This is the point where my mother would typically try to make sure I am shuttled off to school, but for some reason she's leaving me alone this morning, and I am appreciate that. I'm too fucked up, too high on adrenaline and filled with purpose to deal with her. Not today. Not yet.

I wonder if she spotted the metal can. Doubt it. That fucking bitch wouldn't notice anything amiss now that she's back in this fucking house.

The rifle sits beside me and I stroke the barrel, taking in the coolness of the metal. It's almost soothing.

My alarm sounds. It's almost 7:30 a.m. I can't wait around here much longer.

I decide to do another line before I go. The haze is wearing off, slowly. I need another spike. It hits me like lightning and I leave my room, and what was left of me, behind.

**III.**

There was a second hesitation before I made it out the door.

The only other person in this world with the power to hold me to it.

She's behind me. Right behind me. If I make it through this test, it's all over for me.

"Tate." I pause, turning. She can plainly see the huge canister in my hand, and I'm not sure if she recognizes the shape of the rifle under my black trenchcoat. She probably wouldn't know what it was if she did, and what I'm going to do with it. "Why are you leaving so early?"

"Addy." I turn away from her again, back to the door. My hand goes limp around the doorknob. This is my conscience's last stand. I can feel her looking at me. "I just…"

I slam the door behind me.

I'm sorry, Addy. So, so sorry.

**IV.**

Being an accountant must be the fucking pits.

No wonder Lawrence loves to fuck around with a whore like my mother. He needs something other than endless numbers and typing and digits and counting and math and whatever. I see his cock in her mouth again and spit, disgusted.

I park the car behind his CPA office. The lot is looking pretty empty for after 8:00 a.m., considering that Larry himself is always here way too early for it to be normal.

The canister sloshes. I savor the sound.

Some bitch rides up in the elevator with me. She looks me over, my all black ensemble and my bright red barrel of kerosene, and wrinkles up her nose.

She thinks I'm beneath her. Everyone thinks I'm beneath them. Don't they realize I'm a god?

Try and step on me after this, you fucking whore. I'll take you out the same way I'm about to do Larry if you want. Would you like that, bitch? I bet you would.

What's another on a day like today?

I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe I'm hallucinating her. The drive over here had been impossible, my mind so full of coke and meth and bloodlust that I couldn't concentrate on the road. Considering how many people were out, I'm surprised I didn't splatter a few on the way here.

Appetizers, they would have been. No, not even appetizers. They'd be the rolls on the side, just a bonus.

Larry is the appetizer. The real fun starts after him.

The elevator door opens. She steps out around me, fleeing from whatever fear I might have instilled on her. I let her go, I want to take my time and enjoy this moment.

The cubicles all blend together, a hazy grey backdrop.

No one looks up at me.

No one notices.

No one cares.

Typical.

I see that bitch from the elevator again, her eyes fearful as she watches me. I bare my teeth at her. What are you going to do? Stop me?

It's far too late for that. It's over. I'm lost.

Larry's office is a glass case in the middle of a sea of cubicles, something I always found kind of fucked up because it implies he's some amazing fucking thing when he's just a loser who's fucking that slut, that cunt, my mother.

I glance back at the rows and rows of grey felt walls, almost wistful. I could burn them, too. I have enough juice with me.

But I won't. These people are ants, invisible. Unimportant. Useless. A waste.

I push the door open to the clacking of Larry's fingers on his calculator. It takes him a moment to realize that I've entered. He looks up at me with a smile on his face. Like he saw his son.

Fuck you. You're not my dad. You're a fucking loser that's being taken advantage of by that whore.

I don't say it today, but I have in the past. He knows it, we know it. He's a loser.

"Tate." He says my name warmly, like he's happy to see me, although his smile is turned down at the corners. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in school?"

I take a step toward him, keeping the canister beneath his sight line. Larry's watching me closely, wondering, concerned. It's not me he should be worried about, but he doesn't know that, only I do, and I'm not going to spoil the surprise.

"I'm going right after," I tell him, my voice placating, soft. Do you want me to call you daddy or something?

His eyebrow lifts. "After what?" He sounds so innocent, like he cares.

God damn it I hate him.

I lose myself.

I dump kerosene all over him, and he sputters, obviously caught off guard. I can see the liquid go into his mouth, his eyes and melt into his clothes.

Perfect.

He holds a doused hand over one eye, trembling. He sees the lit match in my hand almost before I realize myself that I've struck it. The flame bathes my hand in a warm sensation, but this fire isn't for me.

I stare at him for a moment, prolonging it, wondering for a fleeting second what he thinks of me.

Then I realize I don't care. And he's a fucking piece of shit.

I flick the match. It's effortless, no effort involved.

He ignites in an explosion of heat and anguished screaming. Larry's entire body is on fire, writhing in his office.

I turn and push open the glass door, leaving that fucker behind to burn the way he deserves.

**A/N: I've divided everything into three "acts" which follow each part of Tate Langdon's last day alive. This was the first. Obviously the next will be much longer, as it will follow the most violent part of Tate's…er…day, the shooting.**

**I based my characterization on a lot of factors. One, it's heavily implied throughout the series that Tate is the most evil thing in the Murder House, though he does change obviously after falling in love with Violet. Two, he says explicitly that his mother's treatment of him and her whoring have contributed to his mental state. And three, personal research and knowledge of both the effects of mind-altering drugs and the lives of real-life school shooters.**

**This story is really a labor of love, and I'm planning to crank it out much quicker than my other projects. Expect an update soon, and long one.**

**As always, let me know what you think.**

**xoxo**


	2. Act Two: Aria

NOVISSIMO DIE, an opera in three acts

**A/N: If I make it through this chapter intact, it will be a miracle. I've been writing (as an amateur, messing around) for as long as I can remember, but I've never attempted to do something like this. I'm not saying it's going to be amazing or something, but man…it's going to be arduous. This story just called to me and I had to do it. I honestly don't care if it gets read, or if people like it, or whatever. It was just something that was screaming to come out of me as soon as I connected to this character.**

**I also wanted to admit that I took a smidge of artistic license with the last chapter, just related to the time of morning it was set and where Tate got the guns from. I'm aware they were under his bed in "Smoldering Children." And yes, he used a single barrel shotgun on the show. Oops. Whatever.**

**Speaking of which, I am not quite so sweet on Kit Walker. I mean, I like his Boston accent and his frequent nudity, but he's just not Tate. I guess that's probably a discussion for another day.**

**Catch you at the end.**

* * *

"_At home, drawing pictures of mountaintops with him on top_

_Lemon yellow sun, arms raised in a V_

_Dead lay in pools of maroon below_

_Daddy didn't give attention to the fact that Mommy didn't care_

_The young king, the wicked, ruled his world."_

**Act Two**

_**Aria**_** – I Know You**

**I.**

As I drive away from the office building, I suddenly want a cigarette.

I briefly wonder if this craving is inspired by watching Larry burn, because when I crave a hit of something it's rarely nicotine. But there are sometimes when the burn of the smoke and the taste and the smell just hit you in that perfect way. I pause, pulling into an empty parking lot.

I realize whose car I'm in – has she noticed yet that I stole it this morning? – and I know there has to be a pack of cancer sticks somewhere. I fish around in the glove box and come up with a soft pack of Pall Mall menthols. A Zippo lighter rests near the gearshift.

I take a deep drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs. I'd prefer something a little stronger. Heroin, maybe, would serve my purpose well. It's not my favorite, but it's made me feel the anger, hate before.

I envision the needle breaking the skin as I take another drag, the fluid jolting almost lazily into my veins and filling me with power and violence. Blood fills the syringe, my blood, and it slides out of me, a final drip of the drug spilling from the needle. A red trail spills out of the crook of my elbow, sliding satisfactorily down and down and down…

I shake out of it as a hot ash drops off the cigarette and onto my arm. I hiss, it burns like hell and fuck everything, that's not what I was planning on. I take another drag before flicking it out the window.

School doesn't start for another hour or so and I'm not going to make an appearance this early with my arsenal in tow. Though the cigarette was unsatisfying, the drugs are still fresh and hot and filling my mind with focus, purpose.

I start the car again. It'll take me a little while to get there, and maybe I can contemplate my fate in the lot for a while as I watch the masses slither into their empty, meaningless existences.

They'll know, soon. Sooner than they can even imagine.

**II.**

I turn the car off in the school parking lot and it wakes me to this moment, the now, what I am going to do. For the first time, there's the shock of fear. What happens when this is all said and done? Who am I when this is over?

Then I realize, I remember: I'm a god. And I am saving these rats, these people from themselves.

The lot empties quickly, and soon I am alone with my purpose.

I cock the rifles. It's time.

**III.**

The door kicks in easily. I'm a bit disappointed. I thought maybe they'd try a little harder to protect their precious, meaningless, empty lives. The secretaries don't even look up as I go by their big glass shell, as if I'm not about to rain death and salvation in this place. The handgun almost slips itself out of my waistband and I fire a few shots into the glass, awakening them to the Armageddon, my Armageddon.

One of the secretaries screams. I see the blood as one of the bullets grazes her shoulder. She falls, but she lives. I'll let her. She's not important, not who I am looking for. The principal peers out of his office, fearful but willing to take charge in this moment. I fire again, and his leg bursts in a shower of red life. He collapses, unable to follow me. I don't want to kill him either, not now. The rest of the office personnel cower, pacified. They're not going to stop me. No one can stop me, not today, not ever again. I rule this world.

The front office is far enough away from the classrooms that most don't even know I'm here. There will be a class change from homeroom period within in the next few minutes, and then it really begins.

I crouch in the hallway, the rifle feeling light and strong. I can almost feel the clock ticking inside my body, counting down the seconds.

The bell tolls.

The masses spill into the hallway, so absorbed in their flirting and homework and sports and nothingness that they barely register I'm here. I fire into the crowd, startling them all and waking them to the realization that they are all about to die.

They freeze for the briefest of moments, and we watch each other. Another gunshot and there are screams, people fleeing, fear and terror in the air. I advance slowly, firing again, blasting a bullet into the skull of a nerdy boy I remember from chemistry or something – Finstein? Fienstein? I think his name is Mark but it means nothing. He's only the first.

A girl has stopped in front of me, staring at me with eyes so wide and a face that expresses the horror I want her to feel. She can't move or look away, frozen to the spot with terror, and I briefly recognize her, though I can't place from where.

The cool metal of the handgun barrel presses against her forehead, and she whimpers. Then I remember – Kelsey Jackson, we shared free period last year and she was always up for giving me a decent blowjob under the bleachers when we snuck out of class.

She makes another noise and it sounds just like the way she'd whine and cry right before she came when I fingered her and it's enough. I pull the trigger.

A few more cattle run by and I kill them, too, because the hallway is getting empty and I have something to accomplish. Five bullets end three more lives.

I don't know these sheep, these poor pathetic animals, but in their death I feel a sense of connection to them as the one who freed them from this. Their blood clings to my jacket, my face and I crouch down to examine them and see if I can pull out any memories of them.

Nothing. Just the smell of blood and death and rotting, pointless existences. One boy is wearing a Wolverines football jersey that says "Cannavo" on the back, so that's something, I guess, to remember him by. I pour the name into my mind to keep it.

The other boy across the hall leaves no trace of his existence, but I'm sure I'll know his name soon enough. He is nothing, nothing, nothing.

The last of the three, a girl, stares up at me with her cold, dead eyes and I feel like I may have seen her somewhere, but the way I'm seeing her now is so much more than that. She's kind of beautiful, even with a gaping, bloody hole where her heart should be, and I wonder if I could have loved her, or wanted her if I had known her.

I stroke my hand over her chest then through her hair, getting her blood under my nails and all over me.

For a moment, I'm sorry. Her books, spilled across the floor, reveal her identity – Danielle Levesque. An exchange student.

Beautiful Danielle could have made it in my new world. I rearrange her more delicately, so she's not splayed in the middle of the hall like a bloody rag doll and more in a way she deserves.

If I saved anyone today, I'm sure it was her.

**IV.**

Three more students huddle in an empty science classroom a few feet – meters? I think briefly but ignore it – away from where I left Danielle. Their barricade is weak, as the desks in this wing are bolted down. The door is locked, but I blast out the window and force my way in.

They're huddled together, obviously friends, and I am glad that I can save them together. The first boy, Josh Sathre, is on the track team with me and it's good to see that someone like him will make it into my new world. He's smart and kind and good and deserves salvation.

I kill him first. He's the smallest and easiest to wrangle and he can't fight me off. The shotgun bullet to his head ends things quickly. Blood splatters the next boy in the line, Andrew Meyers, who I'm pretty sure is the sophomore class president.

He wails. I've never heard a guy do that before and it's kind of off-putting, so I want him to stop. To be silenced. The familiar sound and it's over, done. I'm not sure if saving him was worthwhile, but he hasn't proven to me otherwise, so I let him die.

Luke Maxcy is last and we're friends, I guess, because we did some stupid history project together last year and he's invited me to parties as his parents' huge fucking mansion. He's definitely bigger than me and makes as if he's going to escape but I blast a shotgun round into his chest and he hits the floor.

The three of them are so close that their blood is pooling together. Maxcy is still alive and he's groaning in agony, so I decide to be merciful and shoot him in the head.

Their blood keeps mingling and it kind of looks like a big, wet, red heart on the floor, so I take that as a sign that what I've done here is right.

I'm growing closer to the library, where I know more cattle must be hiding, but I hear a faint sob from inside the bathroom. A boy and a girl are wedged under the sink, and I almost feel bad, because it's not a great hiding spot and they know it too, based on the look of resignation on their faces.

Jason Mueller and Jennifer Wright were named "best couple" or some other stupid fucking thing in last year's yearbook, so I guess it's only fair that I let them die together.

She stares up at me, unmoving, her hand linked with her boyfriends and I pause, unsure. They're the first to accept what's about to happen and I almost want to let them live, because they're the only people in this whole fucking school who get it, I think.

I cock my rifle and Jason leans over, pressing his lips to hers and still I wait. I guess that they've earned this last moment together because they're not afraid to die and while they're kissing I blow them both away.

They fall away from each other on the floor, and I feel like I've done something I shouldn't, so I rearrange them and move them back together. She's leaning on his shoulder and her empty, gray, dead eyes are staring to his unmoving blue ones and it's kind of beautiful.

For a moment I almost want to stay here with them because it's the first thing I've seen all day that's truly made me reconsider this Armageddon. Jennifer's blood oozes down her face and I wipe it away, preserving the image of their end.

Together. Forever. Because of me.

I definitely saved these two as well. They can join Danielle in salvation.

**V. **

They've done a much better job of barricading the library and it's frustrating. I tug and kick at the door, but to no avail. I can feel, taste the cattle inside, their fear coming through and meeting me here in a beautiful way.

I decide to find another entrance. I know another way to get in, and if they think I'm not going to accomplish this, then they're fools.

As I make my way up the outside staircase, I can tell they've figured out what I'm doing and are panicking for a response. I turn the knob, but another person's strength tries to keep me from entering. I back up, hoping they feel a false sense of security before blasting several rounds through the door.

A thump, and the obstruction is gone.

I enter, stepping around the prone body of the librarian, Mr. Carmichael.

I can already see them all, but I figure I'll draw this out. A shuffling in the book shelves rouses my attention first and I pace slowly, slowly, slowly over toward them. I can hear her breathing, heavy and terrified and not at all secretive.

I whistle, a high tune that seems to make her even more terrified, as I catch her breath speeding up. She's almost hyperventilating, the fear becoming too much.

To make it worse, because this is amusing to me and she's so weak that I want to make sure she deserves this, I pause one aisle behind her and push some books over around her head.

She screams, loud and piercing, and it's perfect. I round the corner and she's collapsed on to the floor, staring up at me with nothing but terror in her eyes. I crouch down in front of her, the shotgun forming a barrier between us, like it might save her from me.

She's panting, and the thing that almost strikes me as funny is that I'm sure this isn't how she pictured this moment, me leaning over her and her breath goes wild and her eyes go hazy and she loses control.

Stephanie Boggs has had a hopeless crush on me since junior high and I'm sure she's fantasized about me touching her and kissing her and _fucking her_, but not killing her, blasting her brains all over the library floor.

I lean in close, setting the rifle to the side and making her entire body stiffen. The handgun feels cool in my hand and perfect for this. "It's Stephanie, right?" I ask her.

My lips almost brush her ear and I hear her breath catch in spite of herself. "Y—Yeah," she answers, trying to remain confident.

"Do you believe in God?" The gun presses into her temple and she cries out softly in surprise.

There isn't a right answer, and I know it and I think she does too, but she says, "Yes."

I pull the trigger and she slumps onto the floor.

The response of those in the library to the gunshot is audible and I hear a higher-pitched gasp from under one of the tables. I'll save her for later.

I tuck the handgun away again and retrieve the rifle. Some stoner fuck – I think his name is Kevin or something, and I've seen him around, but he's a total waste – is hiding between a couch and a coffee table.

I tower over him, powerful and magnificent, and he reaches a hand up as if to stop me. "No, wait. No…" he moans, pleading for more time, to live. More life to waste.

I give him another moment to contemplate this, but he's a lost cause and maybe my salvation will give him something more to aspire to. The bullet hits him in the throat and he gurgles as he bleeds out, staining the run under him and making an awful mess.

It's appropriate. He's dying the way he lived – sloppily.

I'm willing to guess there are anywhere between three and five people left alive in the library. Behind me, I hear voices whispering, conspiring and I turn from Kevin to face the sound.

I recognize Amir pretty quickly because he tried out for the track team and didn't make it because he was too slow, and I remember advocating for putting him on something easy like the high jump, but coach didn't care.

I give him a second to think he's outwitted me. Amir has pulled the phone down from the main checkout desk and is apparently trying to signal for help.

Not today.

I'm not finished yet.

I hear the hushed whispers of the last remaining as I approach the boy. He doesn't notice right away but when he looks up I see the terror in his eyes and he knows he's about to die.

I shoot him in the jaw, right in the mouth, because that's what he deserves for thinking he can stop me. Even if he was put up to it, he can't stop what's been started. It's too late.

And now it's too late for Amir, too.

I start to whistle again, pacing toward the study table where I know they are and I hope this will rouse them from their hiding spot, because I want someone to face me, truly face me, so that I can solidify my power here.

I face the door, spotting Kevin's corpse again, and give them a minute to try.

I hear him before I see him. "Hey, you…"

I turn. I wouldn't be a student at Westfield if I didn't know who Greenwell was. He's the most beloved son of this entire fucking suburb and I'm so glad he's the one to step up and try to end this. Because he's probably the one I wanted to end the most.

Greenwell is actually a nice guy, which is probably why I can feel my blood begin to boil as I look at him. He makes as if to take the gun from me and I step back, laughing.

"Not today."

The trigger almost pulls itself and the bullet is placed perfectly between the football star's perfect eyes on his perfect forehead, making a mess of his perfect face.

He falls backward and on top of the table that he had been hiding under, blood sliding down the side of his face and into his eyes. He can't blink it away because he's already dead.

"No!" someone, a girl, screams from under table.

The library is almost silent, but I can hear her terrified, ragged breath. I'm going to guess it's Kyle's equally-popular and beautiful girlfriend, Chloe, but I give her a moment to decide to join him.

She doesn't. I flip the table over, Kyle's body falling unceremoniously on the floor beside her. She yelps, trying to cover her head in her hands as if it will save her.

I'm disappointed that Westfield's power couple didn't face death together the way Jennifer and Jason had, and it just serves to remind me why I'm doing this and that they deserve this.

She is pleading with me for her life and a pungent odor has filled the air. Chloe has pissed herself because she knows I'm going to kill her.

I raise the rifle, but my finger hesitates on the trigger.

I almost don't want to kill her. She was always popular and nice and perfect but we grew up together and at five years old I'm pretty sure I loved her, but not now, not anymore.

She whimpers one more time and I shoot her in the chest. She hits the floor, but because she means something, I drag her away from the puddle she's left behind and to a more honorable location. She's not quite dead, but she's making inhuman, groaning noises as she tries to say something.

"T—Tate…" is all she can manage before it's over.

**VI.**

I hear the sirens approach and know it's time to flee. I strip off my jacket and leave the weapons behind as I head back into the stairwell and out an emergency exit.

The alarm sounds, but it doesn't matter because they're coming anyway.

The library is located at the back of the school so it's not hard for me to slip out and into the woods behind it.

The cops can't find me yet. If I'm going to die, it's not with the vermin, or even with those that deserved to be saved.

The hunt is on, and I am definitely the most dangerous game.

Let's see if they can find me.

* * *

**A/N: Well, I made it to the end by some miracle. I honestly wasn't sure that this chapter was ever going to happen, because it was really hard for me to write.**

**I had to stop during the beginning – where Tate fantasizes about taking heroin – because I'm trypanophobic and my own needle imagery gave me a panic attack. I smoked several cigarettes and came back to the work, but while I was trying to finish it, the shootings at Newtown occurred.**

**I tried to soldier on, but started honestly sobbing in the middle of some of the shooting scenes, so I put this story on hiatus. And now it finally feels acceptable to publish it and do that, so here we are.**

**I am determined to finish this. The last chapter will be almost entirely speculation, because literally – how the fuck did Tate manage to elude police who were on a manhunt for him and make it home? It's my biggest unanswered question about his story arc.**

**Also, his relationship with all the victims was made up by me. I tried not to push it too far, because Tate is totally a loner, but I wanted to establish a connection to some of these characters.**

**P.S. The quote at the top is from the song "Jeremy" by Pearl Jam. If you've never listened to it, do it. I command you.  
**

**xoxo**


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